


A way to be good again

by TryingToWrite



Category: The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
Genre: A higher power as a plot point, Gen, Mentions of Character Death, Time Travel, basically all the terrible stuff that happens in the book is alluded to, mentions of rape/noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 08:26:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15311460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TryingToWrite/pseuds/TryingToWrite
Summary: "What does imbecile mean?" he asks, and I feel the words flow out automatically."What, you don't know?""No, agha," says Hassan.My throat itches - the words I said last time are still there, ready to pop out, but I swallow them."It - it means someone who is stupid, clumsy. For example… AssefGoshkhoris an imbecile."In which Amir gets offered another chance.





	A way to be good again

**Author's Note:**

> I read the book. I cried. I decided that it doesn't need to be this bad.  
> Also this fandom needs more fix-its  
> and more fics in general

An indeterminable amount of time after I take my last breath, I meet Allah.

Well, perhaps it isn't Allah. Perhaps it's Jesus, or Vishnu, or just some supernatural force that decided to take pity on me.

All I know is that one minute, I was in a hospital bed, struggling to breathe, and clutching Sohrab's warm hand; when I next open my eyes, there is complete darkness. It isn't like the darkness of the fuel truck, the one that Karim's cousin had taken us to Peshawar in, the one in which Kamal had suffocated, though. This darkness is… calming, somehow. Peaceful. It feels like being in the unconditionally caring embrace of one who knows all of your sins and loves you anyway.

It reminds me a little of Hassan, to tell the truth.

I float, bodyless, for a long time before things change. There is direction, suddenly, and a voice, asking me :

**_What would you do to change it?_ **

Anything, I think. The voice might be laughing.

**_You don't understand what it will take. You'll be alone, isolated. No one can know. It will take everything you have and more. You'll have to change the very nature of your self. Can you?_ Will _you?_**

I remember a green chapan, a dusty alleyway. Dark blood on snow.

_For you, a thousand times over_

I make my choice.

* * *

 

I jolt awake. It is late afternoon, and I'm on the hill where I spent my childhood, under the pomegranate tree. A book lies open on my lap, and my lungs take in fresh, clean air. No bombs. No orphaned children.

Is this what heaven is like, I wonder.

The only thing missing is -

"Amir agha?"

I turn. Hassan is next to me, leaning against the tree and eating pomegranate seeds. I can feel my breath catch in my throat.

"What does imbecile mean?" he asks, and I feel the words flow out automatically.

"What, you don't know?"

"No, agha," says Hassan.

My throat itches - the words I said last time are still there, ready to pop out, but I swallow them.

"It - it means someone who is stupid, clumsy. For example… Assef _Goshkhor_ is an imbecile."

Hassan grins. It looks strange on his face now, but I know that I was long ago robbed of any memory of his happiness.

 

* * *

 

The days pass. It's difficult to deviate, to not do what I did last time. Mostly, the script stays the same. But Hassan reminds me too much of Sohrab - my son, for so many years now. And I do my best to treat him right. I offer to teach him to read, but he refuses.

"It isn't my place," he says, even though I can see the desire in his eyes.

For a second, it feels like he's suspicious. Immediately, I chastise myself. Hassan was- is- has always been the kindest person. He says exactly what he means. My own life experience is starting to taint my perception - which means I need to fix things quickly, before I get the chance to mess it all up again.

Another time, I ask him to just call me 'Amir'.

He looks shocked.

"How can you say things like that?" he demands.

He doesn't speak to me for the rest of the day, and I don't bring it up again.

 

* * *

 

As the day of the winter tournament draws nearer, I grow restless. I can still feel that painful yearning for Baba's attention, and I realize that I still need to win this tournament.

I try to justify it, telling myself that I need to ask him about Hassan, about Saunabar, but it isn't very convincing.

The day of the tournament, Hassan tells me about his dream again, about the lake, and the monster, and I feel sick.

How can I go through with this, knowing what's going to happen to Hassan if I do?

Hassan, my younger brother.

My best friend.

"I don't want to fly a kite today," I say, and Hassan, just like last time, convinces me otherwise.

I can make it, I think to myself. I can get there before anything happens. I'll help him escape, or I'll take the beating for him, and we can go.

The tournament draws me in, but when I cut the blue kite, Hassan drops the spool, and I snap out of it.

Time slows down; for just a second, Hassan and I are the only ones in the whole world.

"I'm going to run that blue kite for you!" he says, but it sounds pained. I realize that I have my fingers clenched on his wrist - I could probably break it, with a little more pressure.

Not knowing what to do, I let go and say, almost dully, "Come back with it."

Hassan pauses, turns around to flash me a smile. A smile I've seen reflected in Sohrab's face for the past decade.

What am I doing? How can I let this happen again? I need to _move_.

"For you, a thousand times over," he says, and the spell breaks.

Hassan is faster than I am, but I already know where he's going to go - I couldn't forget it if I tried, and I did. I race there, and manage to catch a glimpse of Assef and his friends before they enter the alley.

I remember Sohrab, the tear tracks in his mascara, the rouge on his cheeks.

I remember blood, almost black, on the snow.

I find it in me to move.

I still can't say anything, so I simply step into sight, still in the street. Hassan sees me first, and in his eyes is a mixture of relief, fear, and confusion.

It's rare that I can actually tell what he's feeling, so I tuck that information away for later. Assef, following Hassan's line of sight, turns, and a smirk falls away when he sees me. He can't hurt me too bad, not here, on the street, where there are witnesses. They might not care about some Hazara servant boy, but they'll notice if it's me.

"C'mon Hassan," I say, hoping to god that it won't come to a fight.

He doesn't move.

"Hassan!" I try again, but then I realize that his eyes are glazed over, and he's shaking. I've seen PTSD before, first-hand, with Sohrab, so I know that he's having a flashback.

If I want to get him out, I'm going to have to fight these guys first.

I walk in, giving up the safety of the public eye, and hoist Hassan's arm over my shoulders. I want to leave the blue kite, but Hassan is still holding it in an iron grasp, despite his unfocused gaze.

With the three boys blocking the way out, I have no choice. I have to fight.

It's three against one, and it's worse than my fight with Assef last time. The injuries aren't as severe, but I don't get as many hits in either. My vision blurs, and my breath comes in pants.

" _Bas_ ," says a weak voice. _Stop_.

It's Hassan, and he has his slingshot armed and aimed at Assef's face. Once again, the bully is forced to back off, and together we hobble out.

We make it back to the festival in silence, still clutching the kite. Both of us are shaking a little. The whole way, my mind is racing. I barely hear any of the congratulations showered upon me, not even Baba's, though I manage to smile at him. That night, I fall asleep trying to figure out what exactly could've made Hassan have a flashback this time around.

The next morning, Hassan is there, making my breakfast, ironing my clothes, chattering inanely about the festival - almost as if nothing had happened. For some reason, this just makes me even more suspicious.

"Hassan?" I ask.

"Yes, Amir agha?"

"You don't have to worry," I say. I'm still not sure if I should test this theory or not.

"What is there to worry about?" he asks lightly, but his eyes seem dark.

"Sohrab," I say, and by the flash of emotion in his eyes, I know my theory is right.

"Amir agha -"

"I got him out, Hassan. I got him away from the Talibs. I took him to America."

Hassan inhales sharply. Tears leak out of his eyes, and he drops the wooden spoon he was using and throws his arms around me.

Somehow, it doesn't feel weird.

" _Thank you_ ," he breathes, and I start crying too, because this -

This is _my_ Hassan.

This Hassan knows everything that happened before.

He _knew_ what would happen if he ran the blue kite, and he did it anyway.

I remember the look in his eyes in the alley, the relief and confusion and the fear, so much fear, and how he'd  smile when he said it, said the words that had haunted me for the rest of my life, said them for the second time, knowing the misery that would follow.

 

 _A thousand times over_ indeed.

 

There's a lot more to do. I need to tell Hassan everything about his son - _our_ son, I suppose, and about his true parentage. We need to figure out what we're going to do about Ali, and about our future wives. And we need to have a long _talk_ , where I will beg forgiveness and he will smile kindly and say that there's nothing to forgive, because that's the kind of person he is.

 

But for now, we sit on  the kitchen floor together and cry.

**Author's Note:**

> I know its short but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> Also I do NOT want to be there when Amir tells Hassan what Assef did to Sohrab  
> Lemme know what you thought!


End file.
